Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Hanno grimaced at the irony of it. The peaceful scene could not have been more at odds with what they had endured overnight. His sodden clothes were drying fast in the warm sunshine. The boat rocked gently from side to side, wavelets slapping off the hull. A pod of dolphins broke the surface nearby, but the sight did not bring the usual smile to Hanno’s face. Now, their graceful shapes and gliding motion were an acute reminder that he belonged on the land, which was nowhere to be seen. Apart from the dolphins, they were utterly alone.

Regret, and an unfamiliar feeling, that of humility, filled Hanno. I should have done my duty, he thought. Gone to that meeting with Father. The idea of listening to dirtbags like Hostus and his cronies was now most appealing. Hanno stared bleakly at the western horizon, knowing that he would never see his home, or his family, again. Suddenly, his sorrow became overwhelming. Hanno’s eyes filled with tears, and he was grateful that Suniaton was asleep. Their friendship ran deep, but he had no wish to be seen crying like a child. He did not despise Suni for his extreme reaction during the storm, though. Thinking that a calm mien might help his friend was all that had prevented him from acting similarly.

A short time later, Suniaton awoke. Hanno, who was still feeling fragile, was surprised and irritated to see that his spirits had risen somewhat.

‘I’m hungry,’ Suniaton declared, glancing around with greedy eyes.

‘Well, there’s nothing to eat. Or drink,’ Hanno replied sourly. ‘Get used to it.’

Hanno’s foul mood was obvious and Suniaton had the wisdom not to reply. Instead he busied himself by bailing out the handsbreadth of water in the bottom of the boat. His housekeeping complete, he lifted the oars and placed them in their rowlocks. Squinting at the horizon and then the sun, he began rowing due south. After a moment, he started whistling a ditty that was currently popular in Carthage.

Hanno scowled. The tune reminded him of the good times they had spent carousing in the rough taverns near the city’s twin ports. The pleasurable hours he had spent with plump Egyptian whores in the room above the bar. ‘Isis’, as she called herself, had been his favourite. He pictured her kohl-rimmed eyes, her carmine lips framing encouraging words, and his groin throbbed. It was too much to bear. ‘Shut up,’ he snapped.

Hurt, Suniaton obeyed.

Hanno was spoiling for a fight now. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, pointing at the oars.

‘Rowing,’ Suniaton replied sharply. ‘What does it look like?’

‘What’s the point?’ Hanno cried. ‘We could be fifty miles out to sea.’

‘Or five.’

Hanno blinked, and then chose to ignore his friend’s sensible answer. He was so angry he could hardly think. ‘Why choose south? Why not north, or east?’

Suniaton gave him a withering glance. ‘Numidia is the nearest coastline, in case you hadn’t realised.’

Hanno flushed and fell silent. Of course he knew that the southern shore of the Mediterranean was closer than Sicily or Italy. In the circumstances, Suniaton’s plan was a good one. Nonetheless, Hanno felt unwilling to back down, so he sat and stared sulkily at the distant horizon.

Stubbornly, Suniaton continued to paddle southwards.

Time passed, and the sun climbed high in the sky.

After a while, Hanno found his voice. ‘Let me take a turn,’ he muttered.

‘Eh?’ Suniaton barked.

‘You’ve been rowing for ages,’ said Hanno. ‘It’s only fair that you have a break.’

‘“What’s the point?”’ Suniaton angrily repeated his friend’s words.

Hanno swallowed his pride. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, all right? Heading south is as good a plan as any.’

Suniaton’s nod was grudging. ‘Fair enough.’

They changed position, and Hanno took control of the oars. A more comfortable atmosphere fell, and Suniaton’s good humour returned. ‘At least we’re still alive, and still together,’ he said. ‘How much worse would it have been if one of us had been washed overboard? There’d be no one to throw insults at!’

Hanno grimaced in agreement. He lifted his gaze to the burning disc that was the sun. It had to be nearly midday. It was baking hot now, and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his dry mouth. What I’d give for a cup of water, he thought longingly. His spirits reached a new low, and a moment later, he shipped the oars, unable to work up the enthusiasm to continue rowing.

‘My turn,’ said Suniaton dutifully.

Hanno saw the resignation he was feeling reflected in his friend’s eyes. ‘Let’s just rest for a while,’ he murmured. ‘It looks set to remain calm. What does it matter where we make landfall?’

‘True enough.’ Despite the lie, Suniaton managed to smile. He didn’t vocalise what they were both thinking: if, by some miracle, they did manage to reach the Numidian coastline, would they find water before succumbing to their thirst?